


something wild

by njckle



Series: something wild [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Neglect, Fix-It, Gen, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njckle/pseuds/njckle
Summary: The locals speak of a monster and Newt's all too ready to investigate.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun beats down relentlessly as Newt makes his way through the dry underbrush. The heat slows his progress, weighing down his limbs and the entire Savannah; plants under the barren sky wilt, defeated, and the wild dogs only pant and stare as he passes by them. The only creatures not affected by the weather are the mosquitoes that pester him incessantly. With every heat wave, sweat builds at his hairline and dampens his shirt; he had already shed his coat and surcoat, his waistcoat close to following. 

He powers through it all without complaint. Once he gets to where he's traveled so long to be, all the unpleasantries can usually be overlooked—though he has to  _ find _ it first. He’s heard of a “monster” all over South Africa, vague rumors that sparked up in small villages and trading posts, and with every story he’d become more and more intrigued. The locals couldn't agree on what it looked like, not one description matching the others—other than the fact it was black—and that’s only spurred his determination to locate it.

It's something unknown, a new beast he's never read about, and that is reason enough to take a detour from his schedule to investigate. Who knows what he'll find.

What is strange is despite the terror that comes from speaking about it there's been no talk of casualties, how it came to be in the first place, nor where the monster has made its home (another fascinating mystery). It’s only recently that Newt received a break, a slip of the tongue by the more open natives that tell of a village settled near where the White Nile and Sobat meet.

Newt takes the tip and doesn't hesitate to make the journey to this obscure place. 

He spends days searching, from the dry Sudanese desert to humid swamps, and,  _ finally _ , he thinks he's located the village. It's smaller than those he's visited, hidden beneath the thick cover of jungle, mud huts with thatched roofs speckled across a barren patch of dirt. It’s surrounded by dozens of cattle, bulky animals with crescent horns that groan and kick up dust when Newt comes close.

Traveling Africa for weeks has prepared him for the less than welcoming attitude of the locals, but he only has to sway the minds of a few to dissolve possible problems. When he inquires about the “monster” that brought him there, he doesn't need magic to get answers. The villagers assume he's there to rid them of it, banish it from their home, and they tell him about it without much prompting. 

It's dangerous, they say, it can kill a man without even touching him. A spawn of chaos and dark magic, it will curse them and take their souls if it's left to its own. They've run it off multiple times only for it to keep coming back, and they can do nothing now but appease it and await its death.

He asks where to find the beast and they direct him toward a small hut at the outskirts of the village. Newt feels a strange twinge in his gut when he lays eyes on it, only it's not from the usual excitement of finding a new beast, but rather like something's amiss. Compared to the rest of the villagers’ homes, the beast is kept in a hut so small and so shoddy that it looks to be an afterthought and that itself solidifies this strange feeling he's getting.

The villagers don't come within twenty meters of the hut, hanging back and silently watching Newt as he enters the beast’s lair. Pushing aside the flap that acts somewhat as a door, the first thing he notes is the smell. It's not as horrible as the latrines in the Muggle parts of London, but still Newt covers his nose. As he takes in the bare space and the minimal lighting and, coupled with the smell, the unsettling feeling he felt outside intensifies.

The shadows move at the edge of the light coming through the small window to his right shining past him and there's a scuttling sound. The soft noise reminds Newt more of bare feet on compact dirt than claws or talons.

“ _ Lumos _ ,” he whispers. The shadows recede as the hut is bathed in a soft light—all except those bunched at the far left.

Newt frowns, raising his wand higher. The shadows continue to remain, curling like heavy smoke in a gentlemen’s club, but he swears there's something else hiding within them. He steps forward, intrigued, squinting past the writhing mass and—

He stops.

There's no emotion, no words, nothing that could adequately describe what he feels at the moment. It's a mixture of shock and despair, hollowing out his chest and setting his mind numb. 

The child scuttles back when he brings himself to his knees and Newt’s heart goes out to her. He ignores the black magic clutching at her skin that hisses to his proximity, his eyes only on the girl shaking under the despair it emits. 

“I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be much shorter than I'm used to. I have a lot of the story written out- mainly bits and pieces of each chapter, so we'll see how this goes.
> 
> Shoutout to everyone I annoyed with my obsession while I was writing this. This isn't finished so heads up: I'll probably get worse.
> 
> Reminder: I survive off kudos and reviews (even if they're criticisms- let me have it).


	2. Chapter 2

“She's a girl,” he argues.

He tries to make them understand, to explain that what they have wrongly classified as a beast- a monster, tainted by shadow and sin- is merely a child. They don't seem to grasp it; he can see it through their gestures and their closed-off speech, adamant that death is the solution, but too afraid to wield the blade themselves.

He doesn't know how to convince them of their misdeeds, or if he could, as they refuse to listen even as they prepare for some social gathering that's unanimously been scheduled. His questions are ignored- about the girl and what they intend to do with her- and Newt’s left to follow like a kicked crup as they don on paint like wicked masks and colorful garbs and ready themselves.  

“Where's her mother?” he asks after frustration has driven him to be less than gentlemanly, unable to understand what's happening. He's only just come to this place and, if not for the girl, he'd have already left.

Newt’s met with a startling silence and, for a moment, the anger dissipates and he worries that there’s more than just neglect to this story. Only death could change an active village into one of statues in a matter of seconds.

But then a woman brazenly steps forward and, if he can look past the shadowed scarf, he can see bits and pieces of the girl. With the rest of her people at her back, the woman meets Newt’s inquiry and he thinks that not even Gods can perfect such a chilling stare- there's no hint of love in her eyes, but rather a toxic mixture of anger and resolution. If he looks deeper he can see the deep roots of fear.

 _I am no mother of demons,_ she all but spits at him and Newt can only stare gobsmacked as the rest of the villagers gathered around gain fervor at her words. They convulse at the center of the village, where a massive fire comes alive, sprawling shadows reaching the border of the trees. They chant and plead and yell at the bright flames, screaming out to the heavens and whatever deity watching over them to protect them from the “demon” just beyond their village, and Newt shrinks away, unable to let himself be anywhere near this kind of discord. The voices are too high and the drums are too loud: harsh against the stark silence currently settled over the jungle.

The mother is the loudest of them all.

He finds it extremely difficult to meet their eyes. If he does, he's worried he'll do something he'll regret like hex the lot of them. A lesser man wouldn't have held back, but, sadly, he is not.

So he does the only thing he can do: he goes back to the girl.

The chanting and wailing is loud in his ears as he leaves the hellish glow of the fire with words trailing after him as he escapes to the abandoned hut. No one stops him, too busy with their prayers to notice his absence. _Death_ , they plead to the flames, voices rising with the beat of the drums, _death to the beast_.

Like before, a scuttling sound precedes his entrance and Newt catches sight of a dark shape flying across a beam of moonlight shining through the small window away from the doorway. The girl crouches at her corner watching him with wide eyes like she's been caught stealing. She must have been lingering at the entrance, Newt suspects, watching the happenings outside her hut, and, judging from her body language, she's expecting a retaliation. _I wonder if this is a common occurrence_ , Newt thinks and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in anger and annoyance.

The voices outside swell in volume at a particularly desperate plea and the girl’s expression crumples, and Newt knows she understands what they mean, if not what's said exactly.

“I'm not like them,” he tells her softly, kneeling an acceptable distance away. “In fact, I’m like you- I'm a wizard.”

All he gets is a wary stare, but he's undeterred. He lays a hand on his chest. “I'm here to help. My name is Newt- Newt Scamander. Can you say that? Newt?”

She’s small- too small: a tree twig, in contrast to the other village children, with knobby knees and sunken skin that mark her as not only underweight but malnourished. The sight of her body has Newt’s anger rising again- not for her, but for the people who’ve put her in this state and currently praying for her death- and redoubles his determination to help her.

Except little girls aren’t beasts.

She's not one of his creatures no matter how misunderstood and mistreated and he can't treat her like one. He reminds himself of this when he’s rejected, when she refuses to answer him. It's all so misleading when she makes a noise more fitting for a kneazle than a little girl or crawls and eats like desperate graphorn.

Still, he tries.

He carries this one-sided conversation long after the village has calmed and retreated to their huts, and the sounds of the wilderness are their only companions in the night. He talks soothing words, trying to tempt the girl to respond.

“Newt,” he says again, drawing out the word and looking at the girl meaningfully.

He expects it to go as well as his other tries, but is surprised when she mimics him, placing a hand where her heart lies. She doesn't offer a name and Newt doesn't force one out of her, but counts it as a success, if only a marginal one. At least she isn't cowering at his presence, or, worse, refusing to even interact with him. If she's willing to do this with him, then maybe hope isn't lost.

What he needs to do is to show her that she has nothing to fear at least not from him.

Wordless magic requires more practice and wandless magic is only done by the more skilled wizards and those new and naive to their power. Newt is neither, but he can do something small. He makes to raise his hand, but stops when the girl shrinks back.

“No, no- it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise.” The villagers can mistreat her and label her magic as a curse, but that’s because they don't understand. He wouldn't do her any harm. Not now; not ever.

The girl stops, staring at him through her wild, tangled hair. Once he's sure he has her attention, Newt furrows his brow in concentration. He twists his fingers just so and a daisy appears out of thin air.

His watcher makes a surprised sound, eyes wide and zeroed on the flower in his hand.

She reaches out only to stop.

“Go ahead,” he insists. “It's for you.”

Their fingers brush momentarily when she takes the flower and she visibly jumps away from the contact. Newt remains motionless, face angled away, and waits. He feels her stare leave him and peeks out beneath his hair to watch her examine the flower. It looks bigger in her hand than his, pale and dainty, a bright spot against the dark backdrop of the dirty hut. She brings it closer and, oh so carefully, strokes a petal.

She smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter, which is good.
> 
> Also, enjoy this [art](http://njcklenjart.tumblr.com/post/160173137854/the-sudanese-obscurial-girl-from-my-fic).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the villagers off of the Dinka people in South Sudan if anyone's interested.

The locals don't allow the girl to leave her hut. They strike down Newt’s pleas when he asks, thinking she'll destroy the entire village and bring a plague upon them if she does. It’s doubtful, but there’s no convincing them otherwise, not when he's fallen from their graces for defending the girl so adamantly. 

So he casts a disillusionment charm and, after she's done examining where her body once was, eases the girl into the outside world.

It's risky, but Newt’s found that there are some things worth disobedience. The villagers don't attempt to keep an eye on her, assuming she remains in the hut day after day—contact is limited, her food merely slipped past her hut’s entrance—so, as long as they're cautious, no one will ever know about their little adventure.  

The girl takes to everything from the wet grass to the rough bark of a fallen tree. She digs her toes into the dirt and weeds, grips and pulls at the low branches, crushing the ripped leaves in her dirty fingers. Newt watches her explore, nodding and smiling when she shows him a jagged rock with a slurred word, offering the English equivalent.

He talks a great deal more around her than he has to anyone besides his creatures. He tells her about everything and nothing, of the simple things like the shade of the sky, describing the texture of his clothes, the smell of the trees around them; he tells her about his creatures, his family, about the world beyond the mud walls of her hut and the village’s borders. He talks too much—at least he thinks he does. After so long of traveling with only his creatures to keep him company, he's out of practice.

“There's a lot of us—wizards I mean. Not as many as Muggles, but we exist. We hide right under their noses all over the world—it's all a great big secret. I’ve been to many wizarding communities, but none of them compare to London.”

They travel further away from the village, away from the calls of working men and women and the groans of the cattle roaming at the border, the overgrown jungle folding over them and hiding the way they’d come and opening up to newer sights. Everything looks different and yet the same, the multiple hues of green having no contrast to one another in Newt’s eyes. The sun shines through the space between the leaves, dappling the ground and highlighting the dull browns of the dirt and trees into something more lively, a stark change to Britain’s bleak palette.

“That’s where I come from. England.” He wipes the sweat off his brow, glad he had abandoned his coats before starting the hike.  “One of the best communities there is. You can find almost anything at Diagon Alley. It's got everything a wizard needs—there’s Ollivander’s, Madam Malkin’s, and Gringotts—not to mention Slug and Jiggers.”

The girl doesn’t seem bothered by the insects wizzing about, but Newt’s grown tired of them. He casts a spell to ward them off, fully aware of the eyes on his wand as he tucks in back into his pocket.

“We also have a school in Scotland—Hogwarts it’s called. It's the best wizarding school there is—not even Beauxbatons can compare. It's one of the safest places you can be. I spent a few good years there when I was younger until I was—”

He stops. 

There’s only so much he can say about the school. A secondhand description can’t compare to the actual sight of it; Newt doesn’t think he can accurately describe the wonder that is the ancient school, can’t adequately explain the way it felt to see the distant lights against the dark shape of the castle, to take those first steps into the Great Hall, or entering the Hufflepuff common room for the first time.

Meeting Leta, their days spent within each other's company and the experiments, is what made Hogwarts a second home. It was there he’d found a friend, a confidant, someone who was an outcast like him interested in the same things as he and who would listen to his theories. He'd like to tell her about these memories, only they'd be tainted with the bitterness at his expulsion.

What he says instead: “You'd like Hogwarts.”

The girl is looking at him now, her big, dark eyes ignoring the amazing view of antelopes bounding beyond the openings between the trees. He imagines she's inquiring for more. 

“I was, well… asked to leave my sixth year. It's an old story and I've moved on.” He tries for a smile, but can't seem to make it work. “I'm boring you with this, aren't I? Should we continue on with our walk?”

She doesn't answer and, for once, he wishes she would.

He starts forward, the little girl following close behind, hoping for a distraction, and he's in luck. They find tracks in the dirt when they reach a less clustered part of the jungle and his excitement bleeds into her, spurring them into a hunt. It’s a game of sorts, one that keeps the girl’s attention and let's Newt forget out his past.

“Erumpents generally stick to open plains, but they've been known to wander into Muggle settlements,” he explains, ducking under a low hanging branch. “That's what I think these tracks are from—an Erumpent. Then again, Rhinos and Erumpents share similar footprints, so I might be mistaken.”

And, sadly, he is. Their little expedition is fruitless when the tracks become too faint for him to distinguish, not even a hint of exploded trees to indicate the presence of the magical beast. Newt’s put out, more than a few days since he's caught sight of anything magical out in the wild. He would’ve enjoyed a quick respite from the close mindedness of the Muggle villagers and of his unpleasant memories. 

“Ah, well, sorry I couldn’t show you an Erumpent.” He checks his pocket watch. “Best we head back before someone notices us gone.”

The girl wrings her hands together, looking at the nearest tree before glancing back at him. It’s clear she doesn’t want to go back. Newt’s heart goes out to her, but there’s nothing he can do but return her to the only home she’s ever had. He refrains from reaching out or else scaring her way.

“We’ll go out again tomorrow. Promise.”

He leads them back in silence, the girl only a step behind. About a fourth of the way back to the village something brushes against Newt’s hand. Ignoring it is as an accidental brush from the trees, he continues looking at the dirt to his left. It happens again, and then again when he still doesn't respond. He glances at his companion and finds her aptly observing the jungle.

He wonders for a moment before catching her skittering closer when the terrain allows it, her hand barely missing his in her attempt to maintain balance. She’s still not looking at him and Newt can’t help but smile to himself, thinking that there might just be something he could do for her even if it small.

And so, when they cross the small stream, he takes her smaller hand in his own.

* * *

 

It becomes a habit, a rudimentary schedule that they keep to. They sneak out after the girl eats her minuscule portion of rice and return when the sun just begins to set, before her evening meal is delivered. In the time between they explore the surrounding jungle and even the more open savanna where the trees dwindle and the horizon can be seen at every angle. It’s there, trudging through the thick underbrush, he hears it.

The girl starts, but Newt brings his finger to his lips, shushing her quietly. Once she settles down he takes her hand and slowly leads them forward until they’re crouched, hidden in the tall grass at the base of an Acacia tree. From there, Newt quickly pinpoints the creature and, very quietly, directs the girl’s attention to the branches far above them; he hears her soft exhale and knows she sees the fiery red that hides in the virescent leaves.

The Phoenix doesn’t notice them, continuing on with its serenade.

The second one responds in absolute harmony. 

Newt grins, enraptured. The last time he saw a Phoenix had been when he'd climbed Kibo, but it had only been one. A pair this far down was a rare occurrence, one he would use to his advantage. 

He hurriedly brings out his journal, not wanting to waste a second of observation. Even as he watches, what he presumes to be the male scoots closer and preens its mate. They begin to croon, a perfect duet, their song so melodic that even the most renowned orchestra would be put to shame.

“Fascinating!” he mutters to himself. He jots down his observations on their behavior patterns before turning to drawing the pair. He works fast and a soon a picture forms.

They fly off before he's finished his sketch, just as he’s beginning to shade in the shadows of their wings, so he fills in the rest by memory. Looking it over, he decides it's not his best work, but still doable. It’s well enough to be put in his manuscript with his other sketches if he so wishes.

He shows the girl his drawing and she makes something akin to a giggle, shaking her head.

Newt exaggerates his offense.

“Think you can do better?” He rummages around his case for spare paper and, setting up his case as makeshift table, sets it in front of her impromptu. She takes his utensil, fascinated at the black that lingers on his fingertips, when he offers it to her.

“Go on,” he says. “Give it a try.”

She stares at the charcoal in her hand, then at the paper, coming to the conclusion quickly, and begins to draw (scribble, really). She peppers the paper with dots, testing out the waters, before dragging the charcoal across the page. After that, she moves to curves and circles, drawing loops that turn into helixes. When she's done, she sits back and reviews her creation.

Newt turns the paper more toward him for a better look. It's looks like a blotted mess to him, but he thinks he can see two round shapes that could be the Phoenixes, a point that made their beaks, swooping lines that are most likely the tails. “Brilliant.”

She offers it to him. 

He keeps it with the rest of his notes, marking the date. 


	4. Chapter 4

Names have meaning.

Newt’s traveled to many places, gotten a taste of many cultures, and in each names were valued differently. He's met monks who've abandoned their in favor of spiritual realization and, in the same continent, a women with an introduction so long it spanned minutes, adding a new title with each passing footnote in her life.

Names come and go with the girl’s people. Newt’s learned that when the boys make the transition into manhood, they often discard their birth names and become _Acinbaai_ , taking on names after their favorite cattle (in the short period he's remained at the village, he's already learned more ways to say cow than he ever thought possible). The women of the village have unoriginal, common names, but somehow they're all unfitting for the little girl.

Newt would like to call her by a name, so he may stop referring her merely as “the girl.” She deserves a name; something wild and different, like her.

“You need a name—a proper name,” says Newt one afternoon. “Everyone has one.”

They're out in the jungle a little ways from her hut, out of sight of the village. It's become something of a second home, a patch of sun with flat rocks and thick roots where they can lay about, the river down the way. The warm weather leaves the jungle in a doze, only a few birds flitting about, while Newt sits back and watches the girl dig her fingers into the dirt.

She has a name, he knows, but none of the villagers will tell him and he doesn't think they ever will unless they've drunk a truth serum. _A monster does not deserve a name_ , they say, but this isn’t something he’ll back down from.

Newt’s heard her speak, a few noises that resemble words he's heard the villagers say here and there, even some English words that undoubtedly came from him, and yet he can't get a syllable out of her whenever he asks for her name. She understands what he's asking, he knows, so either she doesn't want to tell him or she can't remember it herself.

It makes Newt wonder how long this persecution has been going on.

She's intelligent, far more so than he'd given her credit for when he'd first met her. Not only that, but she's inquisitive. With the years of setback, she's behind on basic learnings, but it has nothing to do with a lack of wanting. He gives her paper and charcoal and soon her drawings turns to copies of his writing, scraggly words that are almost legible. She goes through his suitcase (when it's only just a suitcase, not a hidden menagerie), examining his spying glass and maps, stroking his house scarf and pajamas, even playing with his alarm clock.

“I can give you one if you'd like. How about an English name?”

She looks up at him briefly before going back to her digging. Newt takes this as an affirmative.

“Gertrude?”

He chuckles when she sticks out her tongue. “No? Well, how about Abigail?” Again, he’s met with disgust. “What? That’s a fine name! Hmm, alright—Tilda? Victoria? Delilah?”

He offers other names that he knows she won’t like if only to get a little joy out of her. Thelma. Geraldine. Bertha. Myrtle. Eunice. Winfred.

He rattles them off until his list of proper English names runs dry and, still, the girl hasn't found one she likes. It's clear they won't be going far with this selection, so his best bet is to change tactics. “I've heard some names while traveling…”

He plays around with Rukhayma, disregarding it with Aamira and Awek. She ignores him when he offers Aliya, turning away at Kazima.

“Marjani? Aluel? Imani?” She perks up. “Imani? No—not Imani? Aluel? That’s the one you like? Aluel?”

She smiles and Newt returns it, just as bright.

“Wonderful.” Chuckling, he pulls out a daisy from his sleeve and offers it to her. “Aluel it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Dinka women only have names that begin with 'a.' They're polygamous and often times the daughters will be named after the same person (i.e. the father's mother or grandmother), the only differentiation between them being the added name of their mother's.
> 
> Example: If 5 half-sisters were named Jane, but their mother's names were A, B, C, D, and E, their full names would be Jane A, Jane B, Jane C, Jane D, and Jane E.
> 
> See? Fanfictions can be educational!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I really like this chapter.

They get caught.

With how often they venture out, their luck has to run out sometime and, now, it has. Newt should've expected it, taken the proper precautions, but he was thoughtless and idiotic. Because of his lack of planning, the thin veil that has kept this strange, calm-yet-tense peace between the villagers and Aluel breaks and in the most phenomenal ways.

It happens at their hideaway in the late afternoon when they're looking over their hoard of the day. He's begun to teach her the names of the different plants they find, explaining their uses, which ones were poisonous, and what could be fed to an Erumpent.

Halfway through he notices that she's far more distant than usual and, turning to follow her line of sight, realizes they're no longer alone.

A man stares at them from the edge of the clearing.

Newt leaps to his feet. “Please, listen before—”

Whatever is the right way to go at it, that isn't it. At his words, the man comes alive, moving so quickly Newt might think he Disapparated the distance.

The man curses in his native tongue, practically spitting fire at Newt as he tries to calm him. He gets angrier, jabbing his finger at Aluel cowering behind them, speaking too fast for Newt to understand. Nonetheless, he stands between the man and Aluel as a human shield.

He expects it to remain civil. He expects the man to rage and threaten, but adhere to his fear. He expects him to fall back and leave them be, to judge and hate from a distance like the rest of them.

It doesn't happen like that.

The man surges forward, a right hook catching Newt off guard. He's knocked flat on his back in his surprise, shaking away the black spots in his vision to see the man grab Aluel’s neck.

Aluel makes a noise akin to a hiss, and the dark tendrils of her magic appears, curling like a Runespoor about to strike. The air thickens and despite the heat Newt feels goosebumps rise along his skin. He hurriedly gets to his feet and starts forward, seeing what’s about to play out before it even happens, but he's too slow.

The man screams, stumbling back and cradling his arm like he's been burned, and Aluel drops to the ground like rock.

“Please, stop! If you’d just let me look at it, I can help you—”

The sudden commotion attracts attention and Newt hears other voices getting closer until soon more men from the village are emerging from the trees. “Stay back, all of you,” Newt commands, only they don’t listen. They swarm the clearing, shoving Newt aside, and form a human-made barrier around the man. Beyond their bodies, Newt catches glimpses of him.

He can't look away, too fascinated as the black crisscrosses up to the man’s elbow, leaving the skin cracked and veins swollen. From there, it crawls to his shoulder, sweeping along his collarbone, hissing like burning coals doused with water. There's nothing to be done as the man continues to scream as his flesh slowly decays before his very eyes.

A unanimous agreement has the villagers surging forward, brandishing their spears and knives at Aluel as if to hold her at bay.

It's then that Newt comes back to himself and acts, jumping between them. They fall back, scared, and he’s able to lift her onto his hip and escape. No one stops them—rather they shy away, as if Newt carries the plague (which, to them, Aluel might as well be).

They retreat to the safety of her hut where she rips herself from him and hides in the shadows. The obscurus is no longer corporeal, but the magic hanging in the air sticks to his skin like tar. Newt sees Aluel shiver despite the sweltering heat. He tries to coerce her to talk to him, to tell him what he can do to help, but is met with silence, forced to sit idly by as whatever is ailing her passes.

The man dies late into the night.

Newt knows this because that's when the screaming stops. Everything, the village, even the jungle around them, goes quiet, and Newt’s left with only the sound of his breathing. Even Aluel stills.

Half an hour later, he hears the mob. Words he doesn't know are shouted from the outside of the hut, repeated and getting louder with each passing second; harsh and rough, they spell trouble and promise violence.

There's no need to guess who they're coming for.

Newt’s quick to pack what little things he has, shouldering on his coat and grabbing his case before making his way to Aluel.

“We have to go,” he insists, reaching for her. She remains tense, stubbornly facing the wall and curled in a tight ball. None of Newt’s prodding can get her to move, sweet words having little to no effect, and she tries to bite his hand when he picks her up without her consent.  

More cries sound out from beyond the thin mud walls and Newt sees the warm glow of firelight between the flaps of the hut’s entrance, watches the hut’s inner walls become colored a rusty red. The villagers will soon come charging in, fully intent on killing the child before him, and feel not a hint of guilt for the murder they're about to commit.

“Aluel,” he pleads, crouching by her side. He lays a hand on her shoulder just as a tremor runs through her. Something's wrong, but he doesn't know what.

Words are already slipping past his mouth before he considers what they mean. “I'll take you away. Do you hear me, Aluel? Come with me and I'll take you away from this place—we'll never come back. I'll take you with me, but we need to go _now_.”

She looks at him then, turning slightly, just enough for him to see the whites of her eyes peek out from the darkness. They're rimmed with red and wet from crying, he notes.

“I'll protect you,” he promises.

The silence between them stretches out unbearably long, broken only by the sound of their breathing. In this moment the converging mob seems muted, the only thing worth focusing on being the scared, little girl that needs to be saved from the monsters outside her door. Newt meets Aluel’s wild stare unflinchingly, trying to convey his sincerity through this one look.

She reaches for him the same time he does her. Wordlessly, he scoops her up, holding her close with one arm while he struggles with his case in the other.

He Disapparates them away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I'm horrible, I know, but now this story is complete, so yay! And it’s longer than the rest, so…
> 
> Thank you to the anon that messaged me on Tumblr and spurred me to finish! You're amazing, whoever you are!

In the days that follow, Newt sees what the obscurus truly is: a parasite.

After they've left the village behind, he settles Aluel in a makeshift bed in his shed (a simple hammock piled with blankets and sheets is all he can do for now), and she falls asleep instantly and doesn't wake until the next evening. When she does wake, she's weak and won't eat or drink anything he offers her.

The obscurus drains her, sapping away her strength and using her for all she's worth. It takes and takes and _takes_ , killing her from within, and Newt can only guess at what to do. Obscurials aren't supposed to exist, not in this day and age; wizards went into hiding to escape this fate. There's no guide, nothing for him to base his actions on, so how he precedes now is the equivalent to a step in the dark.

He's made many concoctions for a multitude of his creatures, cured their illnesses from minor to lethal, but this is something he's never attempted. Ridding his Erumpent of her ear mites is one thing, separating a parasitical magical essence from its host another.

In the end he focuses on her physical health. A stronger body meant a stronger chance at survival, so, going along with that logic, he gives her one thing after another in the hopes that it will help. A calming draught for her nerves, draught of Peace for her anxiety, Murtlap Essence for her cuts, Vitamix Potion for energy, and another of his own design to strengthen her bones and muscles. Anything that might help him, he uses, giving it to Aluel when he can.

An idea, wild and flawed and absolutely unconventional, comes to mind one evening and Newt mulls it over for what seems like hours, the Swooping Evil nestled in his palm. The risks are huge, he knows, but the small chance that it might succeed is enough for him to consider it. Half a milliliter of venom was enough to incapacitate a full grown elephant, so a diluted sample could possibly…

Newt looks at the dying girl laying in his shed.

The choice isn’t a hard one to make.

* * *

How deep the connection is between Obscurials and their Obscurus is still a mystery to the wizarding world, and the question of how to sever the tie between the two has only ever yielded sobering results as far as Newt knows. Even so, he takes up the impossible challenge, shaking away the worry that he’s completely out of his field and that this experiment will prove disastrous.

He takes consideration of her small size, her current health, and makes approximate guesses as to how it compares to an average human. Then he uses the only acceptable test subject—himself. He keeps at it, until his stock of ingredients is almost entirely spent and the only memories he has are those jotted down on pages of notes. And on the third day, he thinks he’s almost got it, two vials of varying dilutions—the final result of his work.

But the real problem is finding out which will work for the situation at hand. He knows what ratio will work on a man of his side, but for a little girl? Does he take into account the Obscurus and give her the higher concentrated one? Or does the Obscurus feed off only what is proportional to its host, regardless of excess? The deviation of error is a small one and he can’t afford for his calculations to be off. He runs his hands through his hair, letting out a deep sigh in the hopes of calming his nerves, only to remain tense.

“Newt…”

For a moment, he thinks it's the jarvey playing tricks on him again, but there's an obvious lack of vulgarity and snarling. The voice is too soft and high-pitched to be male, much less his aggressive weasel.

Within the mess of blankets, Aluel looks back at him with those big, brown eyes of hers. Dougal chitters from his perch next to her, her sort of nanny for the short time she’s been in the case, but backs away when Newt comes over.

“Shhh—I'm here, I'm here.” He strokes her wild hair back, trying to comfort her as much as he can. “I’m almost done, I promise. One more day and this’ll all be over.”

“Newt,” she tries again, wincing.

“What's wrong?”

A shatter nearly has him jumping out of his skin. He turns and spots pieces of glass spilled all over the floor below where his collection of vials once were. Black slithers along the ceiling and he, not daring to move, follows it with his eyes as more of his things are shoved off his desk. His entire shed starts to creak, the wood splintering and splaying dust as the walls shake, and Newt prays that it's foundation holds.

Another sound grabs his attention, and he sees Dougal cowering at the door, staring at Aluel with big, blue eyes. The demiguise bares his teeth, looking more like a primal chimp than the peaceful creature he usually is.

 _Oh no_ …

He gathers Aluel in his arms, blanket and all, and clambers up the stairs and out of the case as quickly as he can. The outside air is humid, a grey thundercloud rolling in from the east, casting the evening into a premature night. A rush of warm wind greets him when he steps out, making the trees around them rattled and shake.

Aluel makes a long keen, pitched higher than before. The black mist curls around her, slinking up his forearms and dragging against his skin while her eyes fade into a milky white.

Newt nearly gags at the sudden feeling of disgust that comes over him, the dark magic building around him and pressing into his very soul, but he resolutely keeps hold of Aluel. He looks around, unsure where to go. All he knows is that he has to get her somewhere else, away from his creatures. A barren patch of land within eyesight catches his attention and he figures it's as good place as any.

“Hold on,” he tells Aluel before Disapparating. They appear directly under the storm, where the wind is harsher and the sky darker.

Newt fishes out one of the vials from his pocket. “Alright, this one should do it—”

She screams and the Obscurus reacts. It hits him in the chest like a charging Graphorn, strong enough to fling him back into the dirt a couple meters away. He groans, spitting out dirt, but gets up despite the pain in his chest.

He pats himself, searching, only to come up short. The vials are missing, as is his wand. “ _Lumos_!” His wand alights beside him and Newt scoops it up, and, using the newfound light, he throws himself into searching the ground around him. “Come on, come…” But, when he finally does find them, his heart drops.

“No, no, no, no…” One vial remains intact while the other lies broken in the dirt, the venom spilled and useless. “Please no!”

In the blink of an eye his options have dwindled down to one and he can’t for the life of him remember which dilution he’s holding. The choice has been taken right from his hands and now the risk is too much, the mere thought of it making his pulse quicken and his breath come out in heavy gasps. He’s messed up and now...

The Obscurus howls and Newt’s shaken out of his wallowing. Time hasn’t stopped and there’s still a hurting girl he needs to help, and he Apparates the distance back to Aluel. He approaches like he would a wild beast, arms reaching out, heedless of the raging whirlwind tearing up the ground, and shoves his hands into the mass of black until he feels her solid body at its core. Nightmarish claws dig into his into his skin, but he bites down the pain and fear in favor of bringing it closer.

“Aluel…”

The Obscurus shrinks, if only a little, at his voice. Newt pulls it closer, latching onto this last shred of hope.

“Aluel,” he says again, this time louder, “it's me, Newt? You remember me, don’t you?”

Luck is on his side, the black magic melting into a shape more human at the sound of his voice. Slowly, it parts enough for Newt to see Aluel’s face and most of her torso. He hugs Aluel’s physical body closer; the Obscurus stings his skin, but he holds tight.

He presses the vial to her lips the moment he can, pouring the venom past her clenched teeth. “Drink… please…”

Once she’s downed all of it, he taps his wand to her temple and mutters the incantation, slow and precise as he prepares to extract the memories from her head. It’s been his plan all along, to leave the obscurus with less to latch onto, no fear and anger to draw off of. It might erase more than intended, but that's a risk he's willing to take.

He helplessly watches as tremors run through her small body before he gets the nerve to tug. It's not a quiet thing, extracting an Obscurus, the parasite not giving up without a fight. It bleeds out of her skin in ribbon-like wisps, hissing as it's pulled away, and Aluel whines and cries with it. She claws at him, screaming and spitting like a savage, and it’s all Newt can do to keep her still enough for him to work.

And then…

Silence.

The detached obscurus floats above them in a lazy pattern, whips of dark magic snapping out before curling back into itself. Barely the size of his torso, it begins to fade away, shrinking. Newt captures it before focusing on the prone girl in his arms. She's boneless, offering no resistance when he turns her head to face him. Her face is slack.

The wind has died down, leaving a hush over the land, not even the critters of the night calling out, and Newt wishes there was some other sound than his heavy breathing. As if answering his wishes, the sky offers a low rumble in comfort, but Aluel still doesn’t move.

“Aluel?” he whispers, clutching her close, wiping away her hair from her face. It’s so strange to see her so still when only moments ago she was a whirlwind of motion and sound.

But then, a miracle.

Her chest moves in a telltale sign of a breathe, faint but there, and then there's a soft pull at his sleeve. Just as the first drops of rain start to fall, her eyelids flutter open. Newt watches her stare at the sky in amazement.

There’s no point to try and smother his smile, stretched far enough to crinkle his watery eyes, when she makes a weary effort to looks up at him. Her own eyes are tired and bruised, but wonderfully clear.

“Newt,” she says. Her voice is barely more than a ragged whisper, but it sounds like high bells in Newt’s ears. He focuses on that, her voice, on how utterly wonderful it is to hear, and wills himself not to be overcome by the emotion that’s been building in his chest.

He lets out a weak laugh, uncaring that it comes out sounding wet. “You're alright—I've got you.”

Above them the sky grumbles, lighting up in small cracks of lightning, rain splattering their clothes until it sticks to their skin. They should get out of the open and back into the safety of his case, Newt knows, but, for now, he hugs her into his chest.

“I've got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this ends the first part of this AU! I'll be writing more of Newt and Aluel, so be sure to subscribe and/or look out for the next in the series!

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: [njcklenjart](http://njcklenjart.tumblr.com/)


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